


I've Got My Eyes On You

by NurseJoyIRL



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Force-Sensitive Reader, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Nurse/Patient relationship, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, Traumatic accident, pegging? we'll find out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23900179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseJoyIRL/pseuds/NurseJoyIRL
Summary: You're an enslaved First Order medic who is assigned to care for Kylo Ren after he is severely injured in an assassination attempt. Through the Force, Kylo reveals what happened before the attempt on his life, revealing who may have wanted to kill him. You're torn between two opposing forces- the desire to avenge the Commander, who you've come to have strong feelings for, and the desire to run from the First Order and start a new life.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader, Poe Dameron/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	1. The Man Behind the Robes

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, the term “medic” is equivalent to a registered nurse here on Earth. I’m basing this fic largely off my own experiences as an RN in a big emergency room. I’m going to make this as medically accurate as possible. I want to clarify what a trauma bay is for all my non-medical peeps. It’s a big room in the ER, usually right next to the ambulance entrance, where all traumatic accidents are evaluated and stabilized. There’s one stretcher that the patient is put on. The bay has a built-in pharmacy so medications can be given ASAP. The room is very hot because trauma patients suffer from cold stress after losing a lot of blood. There are portable x-ray machines to view injuries immediately. The emergency room doctor stands at the head of the bed. The head of the bed is a very important place- whoever stands there is the one in charge. One or two nurses stand on either side of the bed, and it’s their job to start an IV, administer medications, and control blood loss. For the purposes of this fic, droids will act like respiratory therapists and help the doctor put the patient on the ventilator. They will also get meds from the pharmacy for the nurses, take vital signs, and be the x-ray machines. Once the patient is “stabilized” in the bay, meaning they aren’t going to lose a pulse in the next 10 minutes, they are taken to the operating room for immediate surgery, or to the intensive care unit for closer monitoring.  
> I’ve placed an asterisk by some medical terms readers may not understand. See the bottom of the chapter for pictures/further explanation.

“Wrap up what you’re doing in here and get to the trauma bay, immediately.” 

You sit in room 13 of the Finalizer’s emergency medical bay. Hera, your charge medic, stands in the doorway, her tall figure towering over you. You’ve been in room 13 for what felt like a lifetime, trying with all your might to start an IV on a poor stormtrooper with a stomach bug. 

You look at Hera’s heeled boots, avoiding her gaze. “Is there a reason you couldn’t page me over the radio?” 

“It’s classified.” Hera leans into the room, fixing her eyes on your sick stormtrooper. “Stop wasting your time in here. Come with me. Now.” 

You clenched your jaw and dropped the equipment in your hands. “I’ll be right back,” you whisper to your patient. 

Following Hera’s tall frame out of the door, you navigate down a long, metallic hallway to the center of the medical unit. The Finalizer’s medical unit is a neatly designed maze of operating rooms, intensive care units, offices, and laboratories all organized with the intention of keeping the First Order alive, literally. 

You make your way to the trauma bay, hardly excited about the work that awaits you there. The trauma bay is hot. It smells like blood and rubbing alcohol. The entire purpose of the bay is to receive and stabilize victims of battle, ship crashes, or other disgusting messes. These victims are usually members of high society, leaders in the First Order, army generals, or important prisoners of war who need to be kept alive. 

“Exa.” Your fellow medic, Ira, greets you at the bay doors in an unusually serious tone. Exa is your First Order name, short for EXA-8216. Ira’s name is similar, short for IRA-3220. Ira is Chiss, a blue-skinned humanoid from the planet Csilla. He began working on the Finalizer around the same time as you. Your shared experiences fostered a working friendship between the two of you. 

In a hushed tone, you whisper, “What’s going on?”

Before Ira can open his mouth, Hera answers for him. “It’s Commander Ren.”

The room falls silent. All eyes turn to Hera, who stands at the head of the trauma bay’s stretcher. The doors to the bay shut. Something isn’t right. Anxiety begins to build in your chest. 

“Six minutes ago we received a distress call from a TIE fighter traveling outside the Tion Cluster. The fighter extracted Commander Ren from his command shuttle, which exploded mid-flight,” Hera’s voice echoes. You take in her words carefully, afraid to miss a beat. 

“What condition is he in? Is he conscious? Alert, oriented?” Ira asks. 

“General Hux and Dr. Hadrian will brief you further. The best of our medical staff have been selected for this operation. The First Order has faith in you.” Hera makes brief eye contact with you, giving you a look of trust, before she exits the room. You have a love-hate relationship with her. Her critiques have made you a better medic. Otherwise, she’s downright mean. There is no in-between. 

The trauma bay doors whisk open. You turn to see the arrival of two men with young faces and smug affects. Their postures are perfect. You immediately recognize General Armitage Hux, who was joined by Dr. Lance Hadrian, a First Order physician who’s gained both notoriety and praise for his experimental and ambitious maneuvers in the trauma bay. 

Hux assumes the head of the bed. “Before any medical treatment for Commander Ren can occur, I must make the gravity of this situation very clear to you all.” By “you all,” he was referring to all staff members standing in the bay who would be working on the Commander. This included you, Ira, Dr. Hadrian, a few medical droids, and two stormtroopers who guarded the bay’s entrance. Each of you would have an individual role in Commander Ren’s stabilization.

“It is believed that the Commander’s Finalizer was destroyed in an assassination attempt by the Rebellion. While treating the Commander, you may come across shards of evidence that could lead us to the offending ship,” Hux continues. “If you find anything, you are obligated to disclose so.” His tone is cold, his eyes sweep the room suspiciously. 

“Furthermore, remember that this is the Commander of the First Order you have the...privilege...of treating today.” His words come out slowly, menacingly. “Any mistake in his care will be tried as malpractice and can result in heavy punishment.” Medical monitors beep in his silence. Outside of the bay doors, you hear the rest of the medical unit carrying on. A poor soul screams in pain. Someone laughs loudly. More medical monitors alarm. 

“Thank you, General Hux.” Dr. Hadrian breaks the stiff silence “If you will General, we are expecting our patient soon.” 

Hux bows his head as a sign of semi-respect before leaving the bay. His stiff posture doesn’t waver. 

Dr. Hadrian assumes the head of the bed. He looks to Ira. “You’re in charge of bleeding control. When Ren gets here, derobe him, sweep the body, place tourniquets where he needs them, and set up the massive blood transfusion machine.” 

Ira nods. “Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”

Hadrian then looks at you. “Get me intravenous access as soon as possible. There can be no delay in delivering blood to the Commander. Based on the report from the TIE fighter, we’re looking at some major blood loss and extremity injuries. You’ll also be in charge of med administration.” 

“Yes, sir,” you respond. You secretly wish you had been given Ira’s job. Starting an IV on a trauma patient is not an easy feat, especially when the stakes are so high. 

“Droids, I need you to assist with intubation. Set up the ventilator, pull medications from the pharmacy, and monitor the Commander’s vital signs. Understood?”  
The droids beep in understanding. 

You fit your hand into a pair of black nitrile gloves and attempt to assemble the equipment you need to start an IV. Your hands are shaking. Internally, you plead for them to stop. At this point in your life, you’d been an advanced medical engineer for the First Order for three years. On your home planet, you worked as a labor and delivery nurse for a year before coming to the First Order. Despite all your years of experience, no amount of practice could have prepared you for this moment. You’d worked on all sorts of important people over the years, stuck your hands in countless bleeding wounds, and pounded on the chests of an infinite number of arrested hearts. Right now, you felt like you’d just graduated from school. 

The trauma bay doors alarm loudly, announcing the TIE fighter’s arrival. The doors slam open. Two stormtroopers tear into the room, carrying a limp black figure between the two of them. The stormtroopers’ pearly white armor is smeared with blood and smoke stains. 

You reach over the stretcher and help pull the black figure onto the table. Instantly, the stench of burning flesh hits your nose. Despite Dr. Hadrian’s voice shouting orders to droids and the medical monitors screaming, all you can hear is your heartbeat between your two ears as you look at the Commander’s face. 

You’d never seen Commander Ren without a helmet. In fact, you’d never seen him in person at all. He was a legend to you, a fairytale, someone whose existence seemed more like a threat. The youthfulness of his face surprises you. He couldn’t be any older than 35. You’d expected a monster behind the mask...someone older, maybe someone disfigured, or terribly burned. But he was undeniably beautiful. You watch carefully as Ira’s sharp trauma shears cut away the tatters of the Commander’s long, black robes. One of the first steps in evaluating a trauma patient’s injuries is to entirely disrobe them. 

Dr. Hadrian shines a bright light into Ren’s eyes. “Commander Ren, can you hear me?” Ren has no response. His eyes flutter shut. Hadrian reaches to Ren’s right upper arm, pinching his pale skin tightly and twisting it, meaning to elicit a reaction from the Commander. Ren moans quietly. His right hand rotates outward, a meager response to the pain. “Pupils are equal, round, reactive. Glasgow coma scale is 5. Droids, prepare for intubation.” Hadrian announces.

“Copy, Dr. Hadrian,” a droid responds. 

Another droid pipes in. “Blood pressure is 72/59. Heart rate is 117, the rhythm is regular. Oxygen saturation 78%. Respiratory rate is 10.” 

You don’t like the sound of those vitals. That blood pressure is too low, that pulse is too high. He isn’t getting any air.

You help Ira pull off the rest of the Commander’s clothes, exposing a large, broad, pale chest. Right away, you notice the right side of his chest is heavily bruised. You snap a tourniquet on the Commander’s arm tightly. Your delicate fingers wander over his muscular arm, looking for any vein that could hold an IV. You feel nothing. You see nothing. But you don’t panic, not yet anyway. 

“Exa, do we have an IV yet?” Dr. Hadrian holds a breathing tube in his hand, ready to shove it down the Commander’s mouth. 

“No. He must have lost a lot of blood somewhere, I don’t see his arm veins,” you reply. Your eyes scan his neck. “But I like the look of that jugular vein*. Let me at the head of the bed.” 

“Be quick,” Hadrian growls. 

You step to the head of the bed and place your hands lightly on the Commander’s head, moving his face to the left, exposing the right side of his neck. You brush strands of black hair off his sweaty skin. The jugular vein in his neck pops up immediately, almost asking to be punctured. You open an alcohol swab and carefully kiss his skin with it, rubbing back and forth. Adrenaline pumps through your heart and to your fingertips as you hold a needle above his vein, pointing towards his arm. You go for it, swiftly piercing the skin of his neck like a vampire. Blood immediately flashes back in the IV, and you push it all the way into the vein. A successful IV placement. Relief crashes over you as you tape the IV in place. Thank god that worked. 

“I think I know where he’s losing all that blood.” Ira’s hands move quickly to tie a tourniquet over Ren’s groin. A large chunk of flesh has been blown out of the left thigh. Burns spread over his torso and legs, marbling his skin in patterns of black and pink. The right foot is hanging by a thread. 

“Initiate massive blood transfusion protocol. Let the operating room know we’re on the way,” Dr. Hadrian orders. He opens Ren’s lips with a laryngoscope, a device used to keep the jaw open during intubation. Hadrian passes the breathing tube down Ren’s throat. The pressure of the tube initiates a gag reflex from Ren, who shudders and makes a weak attempt to sit up. 

“Exa, get some propofol on board stat. He’s fighting the tube.” Hadrian orders. “Droids, get me the ventilator now. And a chest x-ray so we know the tube is in the right place.” 

You nod and look to the pharmacy droid, who immediately dispenses you a bottle of white, milky liquid. Propofol is a highly sedating medicine used to keep intubated patients unconscious. You hang it on an IV pole and connect it to some tubing. Hooking up IVs was first nature to you, something you could do in your sleep. The white liquid began flowing into Ren’s veins instantly, but Ren continued to gag and cough at the tube in his throat. 

A droid grabs the tip of Ren’s breathing tube and connects it to a ventilator. “Stand by for x-ray,” the droid announces. Everyone takes their hands off Ren as the droid snaps a photo of Ren’s chest. You move to glance at the x-ray. The tube is in the right place, but his right lung is severely collapsed. 

“He needs a chest tube, Dr. Hadrian,” You say quickly. 

“He needs blood,” Ira argues, handing you the end of some IV tubing. It’s full of blood. “Hook this up, let’s get it going.” Ira has prepared the massive blood transfusion machine, which is designed to deliver several units of blood in under a minute. 

You follow Ira’s command, connecting the blood tubing to Ren’s IV. The warm blood begins flowing into his neck. 

Ren continues to cough against the breathing tube. Tears exit the corners of his eyes and stream down his face. The ventilator alarms loudly. You place your bloodied glove on Ren’s face, stroking his cheek lightly. His face and skull are surprisingly well-preserved considering the state of the rest of his body. His helmet must have protected him during the accident. 

“Commander Ren!” you yell. You wipe the tears off his face with your thumb. He doesn’t open his eyes to you. He just coughs again. “Commander Ren, relax. You need to relax. You’re on the Finalizer. You’ve been in an accident, we’re just helping you breathe.” For just a moment, Kylo’s chest relaxes. 

That’s when you feel it. 

A heavy pressure builds between your temples. A yellow aura forms in your line of sight. You draw away from Ren’s face, dazed and confused. It’s the worst headache you’ve ever had.

Make it stop.

The pressure releases. Your field of vision returns, and you find yourself staring at Kylo Ren’s face again in a state of awe. Was that him? Did you just hear him? Was Kylo Ren just in your head? 

Kylo coughs against the breathing tube again, producing more tears. “Make it stop,” you whisper to yourself. It connects with you that he was referring to the ventilator. He was awake in there, able to feel the force of the breathing tube in his neck. Immediately, you grab a small syringe and draw some propofol directly out of the bottle. You then push it all into his IV at once, providing him with a greater amount of propofol than he’d received in the past five minutes. 

“What are you doing?” Hadrian asks. He’d been setting up a chest tube kit on Ren’s right side, preparing to pierce the side of the Commander’s chest, using suction to re-inflate the lung. 

“Um, I was just, uh…” Words escaped your mouth. Giving large amounts of propofol technically fell outside of your scope of practice. Only doctors were allowed to do that. “He was coughing too much. I didn’t want him to cough the tube out.”

Dr. Hadrian gives you some side-eye. Your actions were out of line, but they were appropriate. There were more important things to worry about now. 

“Blood pressure is 100/62. Heart rate 100 and rhythm is regular. Oxygen saturation 99%. Basal body temperature is 94.4,” a droid announces. 

You grab some warm blankets and drape them over Ren’s body, an attempt to warm your Commander. Blood from his legs saturates the blankets almost immediately. As you place the blankets, you can’t help but observe his lengthy cock, its size impressive even when it was soft. A small warmth lights itself between your legs. 

“Stop it, Exa.” You think to yourself. It’s inappropriate to think of patients that way. They trust you. You wanted to pinch yourself, but you weren’t so sure you could convince yourself not to glance at the Commander’s cock everytime you cared for him from this point forward. Hopefully, your brief time with him in the trauma bay would be it. Maybe another medic would be assigned to care for him in the intensive care unit. 

A large gush of blood spills onto the floor and coats Hadrian’s pants. He’s just pierced Ren’s side with a chest tube**. “Shit,” Hadrian spits through his teeth. “Someone get me some gauze and sutures, stat.” 

You rush to the stock cabinets and pull out the entire supply of gauze, wound dressings, and sutures. You carefully open the sutures and place the needle in Hadrian’s right hand. With a heavy wad of gauze, you wipe the warm, thick, draining blood off Ren’s side. With the blood wiped away, Hadrian carefully stitches the chest tube into Ren’s skin. 

“The OR is ready, Dr. Hadrian,” Ira says. An OR medic stands at the trauma bay door, ready to accompany your team to emergency surgery. 

“What are we waiting for? Let’s move.” Hadrian orders. 

You unlock Ren’s stretcher and begin pushing it out the doors. A droid trails behind you with his ventilator. You push the stretcher into the hall and begin making your way to the operating room. All eyes present in the Finalizer’s medical bay turn on you. You were impossible to ignore, with an alarming ventilator, a droid screaming more vital signs, and of course, The Commander himself on the gurney.

As you rush down the hall to the OR suite, a trail of blood trickles in your wake.


	2. Chapter 2: He's Quite Unpredictable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long for me to post! I was really unsure how I wanted this chapter to go. Thank you to everyone who left feedback on my last chapter!!! 
> 
> Warning: SMUT ahead! :)

_A warm breeze tickles your hair as you walk up the stone path to your house. It’s eight in the morning, a sweet summer day is just beginning as you return from work. Your dog Tipper barks excitedly as you approach the door, whipping his tail back and forth in a flurry. You open the door excitedly, unleashing the beast who tackles you with a wet tongue. You’re saved by the voice of your father, calling Tipper back inside. You beam up at him; his gray hair still tousled from a long night’s sleep. “Good morning, Dad,” you smile in your native tongue._

The alarm clock next to your head screams relentlessly, awaking you with a shock. Your arm reaches to shut the blasted sound off. It’s another reminder that your enslavement must go on.

You were not working for the First Order by choice. Three years ago, the First Order occupied your home planet, Telgrade Alpha, for mining purposes. Telgrade Alpha’s mountains were rich in diamonds and precious gems, which placed a target on the peaceful planet’s back. The First Order sought to mine the gems in order to fund its insatiable hunger for weapons. When the Order’s troops overthrew Telgrade Alpha’s capital city, they slaughtered every civilian in sight. You managed to escape with your life by offering your medical talents to the Order, who were in desperate need of skilled workers at the time. There were too many stormtroopers and generals, not enough doctors and nurses.

Your feet touch the icy floor. The communal bathroom you shared with thirty other slaves was always heavily occupied at this time. You needed to rush and scrub your teeth before heading to work- no one wants a nurse with nasty breath.

After washing up, you dress in one of your three pairs of slate gray scrubs. These were the only clothes you had, aside from a pair of simple black boots. The scrubs came embroidered with a red First Order insignia, which identified you as a medical worker to everyone else on the ship. The mark provided you access to restricted areas of the ship without many questions from Stormtrooper guards. After settling on a protein bar and black coffee for breakfast, you head to the medical bay at 0700 sharp.

You always begin your shift by reporting to Hera, who tells you your assignment for the day. Usually, you stay in the emergency bay, but every so often, she’ll send you to the operating room or intensive care unit when other medics call out sick. Now, Hera is perched at her desk in the center of the emergency bay, peering at a tablet over a pair of black frames. You approach her with coffee in hand, head still foggy with morning sleepiness. “Where do you want me today?” you probe. “The treatment rooms, like always?”

“No.” Hera’s voice is flat. “You’ll be going to the intensive care unit today. Report there each shift from here on out.”

“Why?” You hated the ICU. It was boring- most patients were sedated, on ventilators, and close to dying. Your soul fed on the excitement of the emergency bay, always wondering what would come in next.

“Commander Ren is in critical condition. For privacy purposes, Leader Snoke ordered that all staff caring for the Commander remain the same. You and Ira will alternate shifts under the direction of Dr. Hadrian.”

You thought back to the last time you saw Commander Ren- a charred, bloody mess of a man. Caring for him terrified you- the possibility you’d make an error combined with the fact that you couldn’t stop staring at his dick made for some painful odds. Would he try to get into your head again? Would that be possible, considering how sick he was? You tried to hide the disappointment on your face, but Hera sensed it anyway. “Caring for the Commander is an honor, Exa,” Hera scolds in a testy tone. “You’ll be fine. Now, don’t be late, it’ll make me look bad.”

You turn away from Hera and make your way to the elevators, tossing your coffee in a bin. Your appetite disappeared as anxiety turned your stomach in knots. The ICU is on the 2nd floor of the medical bay, consisting of 25 spacious rooms with large, sliding glass doors. Each room has everything needed to keep a dead person alive, including its own pharmacy. It was a quiet place, spared from the chaos and constant turmoil in the emergency room. You carefully step off the elevator and are met by a pair of stormtroopers. “What’s your business here?” one of them asks, clutching a blaster.

“I am EXA-8216, I’ve been assigned to care for Commander Kylo Ren until 1900 today.” The troopers glance at your red insignia and nod, letting you past and through the ICU doors. Normally, security wasn’t so tight in the ICU, but with the heir to the first order’s life on the line, every precaution was being taken.

You walk down the ICU halls and peer into each room, looking for Ira or Commander Ren. As you mosey about, you recognize a few patients you’d cared for in the previous weeks- two high-ranking pilots who were shot down by Rebel planes during a night raid. They didn’t appear to be thriving. You reach the last door on the left and are relieved to see Ira standing at the side of the bed, hanging a fresh IV drip. Your hand reaches to open the door, sliding the massive glass frame aside. Ira meets you with tired yellow eyes. “I’m glad to see you,” he mumbles with a deep exhale.

“How is he doing?” you glance at the blanketed figure on the bed.

“Not well. His blood pressure tanked several times last night. We’ve got him on the max doses of Levophed and dobutamine. I don’t know how he’ll make it out of here with his kidneys still working.” Ira pulls back the blanket covering Ren’s feet. You immediately notice the smell of sweat and garbage, combined with charred flesh. The OR had reattached the foot Ren had nearly lost, but the little tootsie wasn’t doing so hot. The tips of his toes were turning purple, and the skin around the attachment site was angrily red. “Do you see what I see?” Ira asks.

“That looks like shit,” you reply. “Who did the surgery? Did you page them?”

“Dr. Durane. No page back yet, of course.” Ira covers Ren’s feet. “I’ll page her again before I leave.”

“Is it just you and I alternating shifts here? Is there another medic?” you ask. You walk to the head of the bed to get a look at Ren’s face. His eyes are shut, crusted with sleep and smoke. The breathing tube sits between his chapped lips, nearly cracking from the constant exposure to air. His face is puffy, probably from all the IV fluid pumped into him in the trauma bay.

“Yeah, I took over for another medic last night who worked on him in the OR. Her name’s Brie.” Ira walks towards the door, sliding it open with his strong arms. “Are you okay if I leave?”

Your hands wring together in apprehension. “I suppose.”

“You’ll be fine. Just watch the blood pressure, he’s quite unpredictable.” Ira whisks the door shut and is gone before you can open your mouth and ask him to stay.

You turn to look at Ren again. Afraid to get near him, you first log into your data pad and review your orders for the day.

 _Let’s see, there’s three antibiotics ordered for 0800, and some Lactated Ringer’s fluid...but can the Zosyn antibiotic run with the Lactated Ringer’s? No, no...I don’t think so. That means the Zosyn needs to run first. Well, shit, no...I can’t wait for the Zosyn to go first because it’s the four-hour infusion, not the thirty minute one. I wonder if they put a second IV or a central line in him yet. Wait...duh, of course they did, because he’s on two pressors, you idiot._ You continue to scroll through the data pad, organizing your thoughts and planning your care for the day. _Looks like there’s a unit of blood on hold for 1400. I hope Hadrian doesn't make me give it. I do not have the patience for the blood bank today._

You make your way to the pharmacy in the room and pull the three antibiotics from the refrigerator, along with a few other daily medications. You prepare the medications carefully, the fear of making a mistake clutching your heart tightly. Your gloved hand wanders under the Commander’s sheets and pulls the blanket back, exposing his neck and chest. A central line* has been hastily inserted between his left collarbone and his neck. The dressing is stained with orange cleaner, but the skin surrounding it is filthy. Small shards of glass are still embedded in his skin.

 _Poor thing. That has to hurt_. You think to yourself. _Let’s get that all off of you._ You hook up the IVs and start them before preparing a warm basin of soapy water and washcloths. Slowly, you wipe away the space dirt, starting with his face. As the filth melts away, you begin to see more of this man you’ve never met.

You make your way down to his neck and chest, using gentle touch over his bruised ribs. The washcloths turn black as you use them, permanently soiled by the stench of smoke and body odor. Your hands run the cloth down his muscular arms and well-defined abs, tracing every crevice, hugging every curve. His skin is youthful and supple, decorated with small freckles and scars, a galaxy of stories etched on his complexion.

At last, you make your way to his hips. Your fingers draw the blanket down, revealing Ren’s member. A quick breath escapes your lips as you feel your slit grow heavy with desire. The image of Ren beneath you, gripping your hips as you ride his cock, flashes through your mind. You imagine his head hanging back, face curling with pleasure, pelvis bucking into you and sending waves of passion through your body. You can almost feel his seed spilling into you, coating your walls with warm, slick cum to help you last another round…

 _Stop it, Exa. Holy shit. What is wrong with you?_ You cover him with the sheets and step away from the bed. You hang your forehead in your palms, taking deep breaths, wishing you could run away and douse yourself in icy water.

It’s only then that you realize who you’re caring for. Underneath the dirt, dried blood, and sex appeal lies a man responsible for murdering your family and blasting your home planet to pebbles. It wasn’t lust you felt towards him, it was anger. You ponder the power you hold over him now. All you had to do was disconnect one blood pressure drip and the monster in front of you would cease to exist. No one was watching. You are in complete control.

“You wouldn’t do that.” A disembodied voice speaks behind you.

You whip around in an instant, your swift movement knocking the water basin to the floor. Your heart rate skyrockets, thumping in your chest as if you were running for your life. On the other side of the room stood the indisputable figure of Commander Kylo Ren.

“What? Who- wh- who are you?” You turn from the standing Kylo to the sick Kylo, then back again, in sheer disbelief that the near dead man beside you could also stand in front of you, alive and well.

“I believe we’ve no need for introductions anymore, Exa,” he replies, his amber eyes driving daggers into yours.

You grab the arm of the Kylo who lies in bed, sure that his body is still there. “Are you a clone? A ghost? How did you even get in here?” You try to step backwards, but the small of your back meets with Kylo’s bedrail.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” he replies matter-of-factly. “I’m appearing to you through the Force.”

Your eyes narrow skeptically. “That’s not possible,” you shake your head in disbelief.

“What do you mean?” Kylo makes a step towards you, his eyes never leaving yours. You can’t help but be overwhelmed by the intensity of this man- his calm voice, his captivating eyes, even the way his height towers over you makes you feel like prey.

“I’m a person of science, and there’s no such thing as the Force.”

“Because you’ve never felt it, have you?” He steps even closer, leaving just feet between the two of you.

A tight pounding clutches your skull, creating intense pressure between your temples. You hang your head in your hands, tightly shutting your eyes and letting out a painful groan. “What are you doing?!” you shriek.

The pressure releases. “No, you’ve felt it. You just didn’t realize it.” His voice is soft. “You’re so set in your ways, so afraid to change, aren’t you?”

“You know nothing about me,” you scowl.

He surveys your face, glancing from eye to eye. A moment of silence passes. “Who’s Tipper?”

His question makes your muscles tense, your jaw drop, your eyes widen with disbelief.

“What a charming little collie dog,” he says in a low tone. A smirk grows on the corner of his lips.

Anxiety grows within you. You step to the head of the bed, attempting to circle around to the other side, but your shoe slips on the wet floor. Your eyes squint shut, ready for your butt to smack the ground, but it doesn’t. In fact, you stop falling entirely, suspended mid-fall by nothing but air. Confusion tangles your mind. You attempt to move, to grab the bedrail and hoist yourself up, but you can’t move a muscle. Kylo moves close to you, crouching down to meet you at your level. “You’re welcome,” he purrs, before releasing his invisible grip and letting you fall to the floor, straight into the puddle of water.

He stands up and turns his back to you, walking away to look at the ICU doors. “I need you to help me. On the outside. There’s a task I’ve left unfinished.”

You get up from the floor and grab a towel from the linen cabinet, pathetically attempting to dry off your soaking wet backside. His words make you scoff. “I don’t want to help you any more than I have to,” you glower.

“Imagine who you could be if you stood by my side now…if you took on serious First Order business.” His eyes creep over his shoulder to look at you. “You wouldn’t have to live in slave’s quarters anymore.”

“I live in those quarters _because of you._ ”

“There’s more to life than trying to stay alive. Is that all you’re here for? To work until you die?” He turns to face you. His lips press together, a sense of desperation lights in his eyes. “You’re the only one who can help me now. You’re my only hope.”

“You’re out of luck. Ask another nurse. Maybe one who doesn’t want to avenge the death of her family.” You throw the wet towel to the side and cross the room, making your way to the exit.

He reaches out to grab your shoulder. The touch makes you shiver, his strong fingers digging into your flesh. “I can’t. You’re the only one who hears me.”

“I can’t help you, Commander. I’m here to keep you alive, if I can even bring myself to that.”

A chuckle escapes his lips. “You would never hurt me.” His fingers wander down your arm. “I’ve seen you. There’s so much grief, so much pain in you. But none of it is stronger than your empathy. You _need_ to help the weak, don’t you? You can’t stop yourself.”

No reply comes from you now. You can’t deny the validity of his words. Your muscles soften under his touch, desperate for his fingers to wander to other places. It takes everything not to reach out and touch him back.

“I know what you think about me when I’m exposed,” Kylo murmurs. “There’s no need for such guilt, it’s only natural.” His hands meet your waist. Blood rushes to the tips of your ears, flushing your neck and cheeks. Your gaze drifts to the floor, ashamed to look at him now. He grabs your chin with his strong hand, forcing you to look at him. His words come out slow and emphasized. “Listen to me. I need your help.”

You shake your head. “You’re not even real.”

A menacing grin erupts on Kylo’s lips as he tightens his grasp on your face. His other hand grabs your ass, pulling you close. His hot breath washes over your face as the abrasive, calloused surface of his thumb caresses your cheek. “I’ll show you how real I am.”

A powerful arm grabs your waist and pins you against the cool pharmacy wall. His lips press into the skin of your neck, now feverish with desire. A low groan hums in your throat, hungry for more of his touch. He moves a hand beneath the elastic waistband of your pants, running the pad of his finger over your lips. “You’re so fucking wet,” he breathes in your ear. “So wet for someone who wants to kill me.”

Your hips buck into his touch, dying for more. Your fingers wander into his black tresses and pull his forehead to meet yours. “So what?” you reply breathlessly.

Kylo lets out a chuckle. “Stop being so cheeky.”

He drives a finger into your pussy, pressing forward, stimulating your g-spot as his thumb circles your clit. Your head falls back and you whine with pleasure. It’s been years since you’d been touched like this.

As pleasure builds within you, your desire for him grows stronger. You long for him to fill you completely, to pick you up and toss you onto the bed, to dominate you and make you come until you see galaxies. The wall of resistance you’d built against him begins to melt as the desire between your thighs grows hotter. Kylo’s touch grows stronger, more intense, working his fingers in your pussy. His tongue traces your ear, leaving a slick trail of goosebumps on your skin.

“Oh, oh my gods,” you tremble, reaching your climax. “Fuck me, Kylo. Please, just fuck me.”

“You want more? I can give you more,” he growls, caressing your breast with his hand.

The vital sign monitor abruptly begins to alarm, immediately grabbing your attention. You look up to see that Kylo’s blood pressure has dropped to 68/43. Your heart drops to your stomach as you come back to reality, remembering where you are. You push Kylo off of you, dashing to the monitor to retake the blood pressure again, desperately hoping it wasn’t actually that low. “You need to leave,” you say, looking back to the pharmacy wall.

The Kylo who had been standing over you just moments ago was gone. The fever between your thighs, however, was still there, as your panties were undeniably soaked with pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *central line: kind of like an IV, but the end of the IV reaches almost to the heart. It’s how we give IV medications to people who will need lots of different medications going at once.

**Author's Note:**

> *This is your external jugular vein! Yes, you can put an IV in it. We do it all the time in people with bad veins in a pinch. It’s pretty common to see trauma patients with IVs here. I thought stabbing kylo in the neck would be hot. 
> 
> https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.medicnerd.com%2Fvideo-external-jugular-vein%2F&psig=AOvVaw0vqiyw5ihVUTl3vuMLYcLx&ust=1588200158505000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAIQjRxqFwoTCIi68-aYjOkCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAD
> 
> **A chest tube is used to drain blood or air off of the space your lungs sit in. Whenever a lung has collapsed, this is usually how we get them to re-inflate! The tube is connected to a box that sits on the floor and drains off the blood/air/fluid. 
> 
> https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.shutterstock.com%2Fsearch%2Fchest%2Btube&psig=AOvVaw35xumyIZajkjYumVfF0za6&ust=1588200185341000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAIQjRxqFwoTCJiGqvGYjOkCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAD


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